Rotting skin,
Maggots writhing within.
Shuffling pace,
A big hole in his face.
His clothes are tattered,
With old blood splattered.
Moaning out of his throat,
His drool dripping on your coat.
White eyes staring,
All the unnecessary preparing.
Guns or blades,
Or maybe bats and spades?
Doors and windows boarded,
Soon their patience will be rewarded.
Fight or flee,
It will only help you to a certain degree.
Because when a zombie sees you,
It will not stop until your skin is also blue.
I like it. Now, for me to destroy your self esteem.
I Think some of the lines could have been shortened to improve flow. Stiill, better than a lot of stuff I've tried to do.
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